


Improvisation

by NidoranDuran



Category: Kill la Kill
Genre: Crack, Masturbation, Musical Instruments, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NidoranDuran/pseuds/NidoranDuran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This one time, at band camp, Nonon stuck a flute up her pussy. Written while very much not sober, and I am sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Improvisation

Nonon Jakuzure loved instruments.

But Nonon Jakuzure also 'loved' instruments.

As Non-Athletic Committee Chair of the student council, she was allowed virtually free reign of the band room during all hours, and she used it as a frequent place to get away from the chaos going on around her, some quiet alone time that occasionally involved napping on the sofa, but often was just playing with instruments. Toying around with them, whether it be curious improvisation or just playing familiar songs, helped ease away the stresses of life and the irritations of the other student council members, who grated on her nerves occasionally.

But other times, she was in the room to scratch an itch. An odd itch, one that only grew odder when she discovered the most effective way to scratch it. She kept a flute in the drawer, always the same one so that she wouldn't have to risk cross-contamination either with her own body or the mouth of whichever poor flautist was stuck with "her" flute. Only she had the key to the desk drawer containing it, and with the door locked she was free to pull it out, marvel at the gorgeous, bumpy flute. It was a rather nice model, and her fingers ran excitedly over all the bumps and ridges of it, the pieces that served to allow it to make beautiful music but served a much nobler purpose for Nonon, who wasn't much of a wind instruments girl to begin with. This was the rare exception, and oh how exceptional it was.

Slipping back onto the sofa, Nonon lay spread out lazily atop it, one hand tugging up the hem of her dress and easing her panties down, simple and white that day. Her legs kicked up and soon enough her underwear dangled off of one ankle, that leg hanging loosely off the sofa as she pulled the other one up and over the head of it, ensuring spread legs even in the could-be-more-spacious conditions of the band room couch. Then she pushed it gently forward, starting with the mouthpiece, the cold metal of it exciting her puffy labia as she ran it up and down, teasing herself with the instrument. There was no risk of anybody coming by, allowing her to let her long, rapsy moan out without shame or fear. This was the truest, most private of private times for Nonon, and she was intent on reveling in that fact.

Steadily up and down, until the idle chill of unattended metal was gone and she thirsted for more, slipping the narrow mouthpiece between her moist lips and rubbing it up and down then. What now pressed against her labia was just as chilly as before, allowing her to bask in that odd sensation and the pleasure of temperature just a little longer before she took the plunge. Her free hand came to her mouth, and she sucked on her own fingers, groaning and purring around the digits as she eagerly lapped and slurped at them, getting them nice and wet, enjoying the idle and hard-to-describe pleasure it gave her, so much more potent when it was somebody else performing for her, but more than enough to keep her pleased by itself.

Her grip shifted on the toy, tightening and straightening itself out, as she got ready. One deep breath was all she needed before four inches of flute eased its way inside of her, the cold and the inconsistent surface ensuring the most wonderful of sensations along her slick inner walls. She moaned harder around her fingers, nibbling gently at them as she watched it sink deeper in. Her legs parted wider, hips easing gently up off the couch to get more of it as the pumping began. She kept tempo flawlessly, fucking hersing in common time, every pump of the instrument into her aching pussy getting her more and more riled up. It was an easy thrill to get invested in, and she didn't even see what she did as the ruinining or debasing of an instrument, because it was as much a love for music as it was for herself.

Once her fingers were thoroughly soaked and sucked on, she withdrew them from her mouth, planting one last kiss to the tips as she reached down between her legs with that hand as well, the slick digits settling lovingly atop her clit, beginning to rub slowly along it, a gentle build from the second seat instruments welling up in augmentation of the first, but not yet joining into the same gusto and thrill of the first seat. They would have their chance to shine and swell in unison, but there was nothing an orchestra needed more than professionalism, restraint, or patience. They were all part of the same piece, different means to the same incredible climax.

But Nonon's flute performance was an improvisational pace, and while its steady increase in tempo was to be expected, climbing up another few beats per minute with every group of four bars, she didn't expect the time signature to change. She was too needy not to, too turned on to keep it going to slowly, but only an amatuer just raised the tempo so recklessly. Finishing up those last four bars, she threw the performance for a loop and switched with almost brutish force into nine eights time, getting that extra little bit of oomph into her fucking as she cried out, gripping the toy even harder in preparation for what was about to happen.

Her hips bucked upward in sycopated eagerness, meeting the thrusts as she began to fuck herself harder with the flute, working her clitoris harder as her other hand worked its own solo, the two dueling performances complimenting each other incredibly well, not too musicians eager for the total attention of their audiences over the other, but instead to masters of the art improvising together.This was not a greedy performance, and they were intent on putting on a show worthy of the audience before them. Her voice joined in as well, a power trio of percussion, wind, and brass that all mingled perfectly into a wonderful song together. It may have been laughable and even she had to admit it was silly, but when she was far gone enough to fuck herself with a flute, she may as well go the extra mile and moan musically.

Nonon got messily wet when turned on enough, and given her little 'performance' and the wildness with which she cried out in expressions of her inteense slef-pleasure, she was well past 'enough'. Quim leaked down, forming a big wet spot on the sofa and getting her lower body absolutely soaked, but it was a mess she would deal with 'later'. She couldn't distract from her piece, not with it so eagerly in progress; the show must go on.

Like an acid-tripping hippie trying to blow the minds of everyone around them, Nonon's wind performance threw everything for a loop as she twirled the flute around in her hand, sticking the wider end where the sound came out just as deeply into her as the mouthpiece had been. It wasn't too substantial a change at the tip, but the end was where the cluster of pieces were; she didn't have to go too deep in to feel the wider penetration they offered, the way the unevenness of them felt incredible slipping along her inner walls. Her hips steadied into a rigid staccato rhythm, bucking frantically as she fucked herself even harder, the entire orchestra swelling up to its incredible finale, and she could already hear the applause, feel it well up inside of her chest and in her loins, the sweetest satisfaction and reward a musician could ever know.

She came hard, spine arching as she howled, all instruments flailing wildly in their frantic, show-offey climax, rapid flurries of notes and noise reaching a fever pitch as the spirit of music carried them away and into something frenzied, but still rooted in enough skill to not be pure screeching. Except her voice; she wasn't much of a singer, and the screaming cries were no longer even in the right key, but she was too busy feeling her loins on fire, every nerve across her body alight, to care. She squirted hard, gushing clear juices that splattered onto her legs and all over the sofa, ensuring the absolute messiest finale possible as she howled, still not caring as the standing ovation followed, thunderous applause. Heavy enough to even shake the room somehow, the audience in her mind bleeding into reality and—wait, no.

Shit.

That wasn't applause, that was the rapid, powerful footsteps of Gamagori bearing down the halls, coming to retrieve her for some official purpose while she idly toyed with an instrument—school property nonetheless—inside of her, panties around one ankle, quim everywhere....

She was about to be in a lot trouble. But it was worth it.


End file.
